


The Little Things

by bigasswritingmagnet (thekumquat)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Pining, it has a happy ending i promise, or ponytail in this case, pulling pigtails to get your crush's attention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 18:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18762301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/pseuds/bigasswritingmagnet
Summary: Hawke likes to undo Varric's ponytail whenever she walks past him. He finds it obnoxious, then endearing, and then he misses it. Falling in love with her probably has something to do with it.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time she does it, he's known her for about a month. They're in the Hanged Man. She's walked off to get drinks. He's hunched over a particularly mediocre hand, trying to decide if he should fold or let it play out. Then he feels a tug at the back of his head, and his hair slides forward into his face. Hawke thumps down next to him and tosses his hair tie onto the table. 

"You dropped that," she says, so casually that for a second he almost believes her. He snorts, because it's kind of funny in an obnoxious sort of way, and sets his cards down to tie his hair up again. 

She does it again the next day. This time she sits next to him, then reaches up behind him to yank his hair loose. She holds the tie out to him with a helpful expression. 

"You dropped that." 

It's a little less funny and a little more obnoxious, but he just sighs and ties his hair back up again. He has a feeling that this trick is her way of being friends, and he's willing to put up with it. He has friends with worse habits. 

She does it the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. It gets the point where he tenses up whenever someone walks behind him, and he keeps a wary eye on her whenever she approaches. 

One day he grabs her wrist before she can get to his hair, but Hawke just tugs the tie out with her other hand, snagging several hairs in the process. 

"You dropped that," she says, but this time she can't keep the shit-eating grin off her face. He glares at her, and she gives him an innocent look. 

"Stop  _ doing _ that," he tells her, grabbing the tie from her hand. 

"Stop doing what?" she asks, tilting her head to one side. Hawke is a phenomenal actress when she wants to be. She looks genuinely confused. Varric knows if he pushed, really pushed, she'd probably stop, but despite his irritation, he can't quite bring himself to do it. And he's not really sure why.

"You look like a dog when you do that," he snaps. Hawke puts a hand to her chest. 

"Varric," she says, voice trembling with emotion -- or laughter. "That is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me." 

_ Fereldans.  _ It's so disgustingly charming he forgets to be annoyed. 

 

She stops doing it after the Deep Roads. Hawke stops doing much of anything after the Deep Roads. Leandra takes over the business of preparing the estate, Varric is in charge of selling off the pieces they found, Hawke...sits in the Hanged Man and drinks. 

She doesn't play cards. Conversation is stilted. Mostly she stares into her mug with the dead-eyed exhaustion of old soldiers. Her friends do their best, but she gently rebuffs every attempt at cheering her up and drawing her out. Varric wishes he could ask Bethany for advice, but Sunshine has enough to worry about, down in the Deep Roads. 

Then one day, he feels the familiar tug, and Hawke hands him his hair tie. 

"Dropped that," she says, not quite looking at him. He's so relieved to see her acting like herself again, he can't keep the smile off his face when he answers. 

"Oh, are we doing this again?" 

"Not my fault you keep dropping it," she says. Her voice is still flat and distant, but there's a small smile on her lips. "You should get a new one." 

"I'll get right on that, Hawke, thanks," he says dryly, and is rewarded when her smile grows. 

 

He’s known her nearly four years when the game changes on him. 

Varric sees her approaching out of the corner of his eye, and braces himself, even as he keeps his eyes on his cards. Hawke tugs the tie loose, as usual, but something... _ weird  _ happens. When her fingers brush against the back of his neck, they leave a strange, tingling warmth behind. He's so startled, he takes the tie in silence. His fingers feel stiff and uncoordinated, and it takes him a few tries to get the knot right. 

"What?" 

Varric looks up at her. Hawke is frowning at him, her eyes searching his face. 

"What?" he parrots, not sure what she means, his mind scrambling to get itself back in order. 

"What's with that look?" 

He forces a scowl at her. 

"I'm three hands down and you're distracting me, that's what." 

For a moment, he thinks she's going to push, but then she scoffs. 

"It's not my fault you still haven't bought a proper hair tie." 

Varric loses the next hand, unable to keep his attention on the cards and not the ghost of her touch. 

He starts to look forward to it, after that. He also starts to dread it. The feeling of her fingers on his neck, even so brief and casual a touch, stays with him for hours afterwards. Varric doesn't unsettle easily, but it leaves him flustered and dry-mouthed every time. He's never been so grateful to be such a good liar. 

But he wants it more than he doesn't, the flood of warmth in his veins and the way his heart beats a little faster. So he never tells her to stop. Not seriously, anyway. His protests are part of the game now, as much as the way she says, every time, "You dropped that." 

 

It's late in the night. Everyone else has gone home, but Hawke is lingering. She does that a lot, these days. The estate feels very empty now, even with only one person missing. Varric lets her stay as late as she likes. Sometimes they drink and play cards, or talk, and sometimes, like now, they just sit and enjoy each other's company. She's curled up in a chair, reading a book from his personal library. He's hunched over yet another letter from the Merchant's Guild. If he didn't hate Bartrand for leaving him to die, he'd hate him for dumping all this responsibility on him. Sometimes he feels like he's drowning in paperwork. 

Finally, he tosses down his quill and arches his back, groaning as his spine pops back into place. A few strands of hair have fallen into his face. He tugs his tie loose and shakes out his hair. 

Hawke's hand reaches into his field of view and takes the tie out of his hand. 

"I used to do this for Bethany, when we were younger," she says softly. She cards her fingers through his hair, drawing it back away from his face. Varric shuts his eyes and tries not to shiver at the sensation of her nails scratching gently across his scalp. It can't be more than a few moments, but it feels like an eternity. He wants it to be an eternity. If he could spend the rest of his life sitting here with Hawke playing with his hair, he'd die happy. 

All too soon, she gathers his hair up and ties it into place with a few quick, practiced motions. Only when she's done does he finally have the courage to look up at her, and return the small smile he finds on her face. Her hands are on his shoulders now, and he swears he can feel her touch through his shirt.

"I should head home," she says. 

"Sure," he manages. "See you tomorrow, Hawke." 

She disappears out the door, and Varric feels at once absurdly happy and achingly lonely. 

 

Varric leans against the battlements and stares out at Skyhold's courtyard. Even this early in the morning, people are running to and fro, trying to make the fort livable. He gnaws at the inside of his lip. He has to find a way to tell the Herald -- the  _ Inquisitor _ , boy won't  _ that  _ take some getting used to. Then Cassandra is going to find out, and he's going to be in serious trouble. Threat to his physical well-being type trouble. 

He wishes he knew that this was a good idea. Hawke was safe in hiding. Relatively, anyway. She was away from all this mess, at least. Now, yet again, he's dragging her into the thick of things. She'd sounded eager to help, in her letter, but that didn't mean anything. Hawke wouldn't know self preservation if it bit her. In fact, if it  _ did  _ bite her, she'd probably just poke it again to see what it would do. 

His hair slid forward into his face. A warm body leaned against the battlements beside him, pressed close. Hawke held out Varric's hair tie. 

"You dropped that." 

Varric nudges her hard with his elbow as he goes to tie his hair up, but his grin is so wide it hurts. 

“Missed you, too,” he says. 

 

~~_ Bethany _ ~~

~~_ Sunshine _ ~~

~~_ I'm sorry _ ~~

_ Sunshine,  _

_ I know I promised I'd keep your sister safe _

The words blur and smear and he drops his pen on his desk to pinch the bridge of his nose. It's been a week. He needs to tell people. They need to know. He doesn't know how to say it. He can barely think it. 

They're going to hold a vigil for Hawke. He's not going. They want him to 'say a few words'. He refused. He can’t put the words on paper. How could he say them out loud? 

Varric feels a tug, and his hair falls around his face. For a second he thinks his heart has stopped beating, and when he lowers his hand, it trembles slightly. His hair tie dangles from familiar fingers. 

"You dropped that." 


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided this needed a more definite happy ending.

"Varric, hold still." 

If that wasn't enough reason to immediately sit up and turn around, the little giggle that followed definitely was. He caught just a glimpse of Hawke's grin before she put her hand on his head and forced him to look forward again. 

"Hold. Still." The smile in her voice did not make him less nervous. "Right," she continued in a softer voice. "See this loop here? You grab this part--" 

" _Hawke!"_ he protested, and was met with more stifled giggling. Hawke's voice wobbled with barely concealed laughter as she answered. 

"Now now, Varric, I'm passing on important traditions to the next generation. You dwarves like that sort of thing." 

"Not  _this_ dwarf, and definitely not  _this_ tradition." 

"Remember, he always complains, but he never means it." 

He groaned and rolled his eyes. There was an awkward fumbling at the back of his head, and he winced at a particularly rough yank. 

"Ow." 

"Gently, darling, gently. There we go." 

One more tug, and his hair fell down around his face. He sighed, heavily, exasperated, as Hawke stepped into his field of view. Her mischievous smile practically glowed, and the dark haired girl on her hip had one to match. He could almost ( _almost)_ forgive Hawke on that sight alone.

"Treachery," he said flatly. "You're turning our daughter against me." 

Hawke ignored him. "Now hold it out to him and we say..." 

Giggling so hard she almost couldn't talk, Lonnie thrust out the hair tie clutched tightly in her small fist. 

"You dropped this!" 


End file.
